


All The World's A Stage

by Mickey_la



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: A case gone wrong, Angst, Blood, Rain, Shakespeare, benedict and his amazing voice, no fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5729047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mickey_la/pseuds/Mickey_la
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just another chase, just another criminal to be caught. This time it doesn't end well for the boys.<br/>One shot<br/>First fic ever posted.... So let me know</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The World's A Stage

“He’s getting away.”  
“I don’t care.”  
“Like h-h*** you don’t.”  
“John.” Sherlock bit out. “Aggression and other such sentimentalities will only heighten your pulse, and-” A glare from John silenced him.  
“You’re going into shock.” John smirked, or tried to, the smirk had turned into a shuddering grimace.  
The alley was dark, and it was starting to rain, cold misting rain that didn't soak as much as cover. The pair huddled beneath the overhang of the closest buildings. The plastic like canvas was ancient and it did nothing to impede the fall of London rain. The walls shined red, a misty haze that was slowly washed away by the light rain.  
That same red was pooling beneath them.  
It had started as a classic chase: Sherlock couldn't be expected to wait for the police force and, with John hot on his heels and yelling out the merits of cars or motorbikes through his laughter, had taken it upon himself to chase the suspect down. The two men had been akin to a bloodhound on the hunt followed by a giggling schoolboy, save that this giggling schoolboy handled his gun with precision and care. The shot had rang out, the sleek bloodhound bounding out of the way, and the laughter had halted.  
Now, sirens wailed, though they were the wrong kind and headed in the wrong direction. Sherlock had removed his scarf, applying pressure as best he could to both entry and exit wound. This left the two men in an almost loving embrace, John draped in his friend's arms like a baby. His neck resting on the arm that both held him up and allowed that life saving pain on his back- on the exit wound. “John,” Sherlock started. “I need to call the ambulance. Give me your hand, you need to-” He was positively panting, his breath escaping him in panicking puffs in the chilled air.  
“Sherlock.” The finality of the word silenced the list of instructions. “I don’t need a bunch of underpaid paramedics to tell me what I already know.” John’s ragged pain filled breathing caused him to pause. “It’s a miracle i’m still-”  
This time it was Sherlock who silenced John. “Stop.”  
“Sh-”John began, his voice low in fear and emotion. “Sherlock, I’m scared.” The gravity of the situation- of life, seemed to crash upon them both. The ex-army doctor squinted up at his friend, his best friend, through the rain. “Y-you need to keep talking.” He wheezed, his lungs failing him. “It’ll help your sh-shock. Do something, sing.” The last word was barely a whisper, yet it was gritted out through clenched teeth as another spasm of pain shot through him.  
Sherlock, mr. mind palace, stared blankly at his friend. His oatmeal colored sweater slowly blossoming into the ruddy shade of death, despite his best attempts to stanch the blood flow. He could not remember a single song, his mind for once slow and sluggish.  
“D-don't have... to sing. You clot. Justsaysomething.” John bit out, the words running together as they rushed to fit into the short breaths he had managed to release. Finally Sherlock’s mind yielded him something.

“All the world's a stage,  
And all the men and women merely players;  
They have their exits and their entrances,  
And one man in his time plays many parts,  
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,  
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.”  
Sherlock recited, his eyes losing their luster as shock finally set in.  
John smirked, a huff of mirth escaping his pained form. “At least i'm not mewling and puking.” Sherlock grimaced and continued.

“Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel  
And shining morning face, creeping like snail  
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,  
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad  
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,”  
John’s eyes began to close, causing Sherlock to cease his recitation. “John?” No reply. “John!” His rough shaking seemed to rouse John, if only for a moment.  
“Its funny,” he coughed, spitting aerated blood out his mouth with each weak wheeze. “I can’t think of a thing to say.”  
“I thought you were set on ‘please God let me live’ as your last words.” Sherlock responded, his voice flat and expressionless. A tear ran down his cheek, landing on John’s eyebrow.  
“And I thought you were a machine.” John coughed again “I guess i’m not always right.” After a moment, sitting silent in the rain, Sherlock resumed his recitation at John's request.  
“Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,  
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,  
Seeking the bubble reputation  
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,  
In fair round belly with good capon lined,  
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,  
Full of wise saws and modern instances;  
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts  
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,  
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;  
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide.”  
The rain stopped as John released his last breath. “Goodbye, Sherlock.”

**Author's Note:**

> https://ww (dot) youtube (dot) com/watch?v=lvJ9Hd0f-tw
> 
> Here's the link to Benedict reading the sonet. If you can't find it that way try searching "Benedict Cumberbatch reads Shakespeare"


End file.
